Practicing Peacock
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: Post war, Draco struggles with finding his place in his own world, and a darkness that lingers within him. His mother struggles with his struggle...and one of her own. Hear Practicing Peacock's playlist from my profile!
1. Choice Hen

This piece is _not _part of the Malfoy Manner series. This is an exercise in first person perspective for me. Opinions are appreciated. Thanks always to the dark dragon...and also to the unicorn of delight;-

Practicing Peacock

Chapter One: Choice Hen

I finally found him standing in the courtyard. He was in the midst of the damned birds. Eleven or twelve of them milled about his calves, some displaying their proud feathers. It appeared strangely as if he was holding court with them. He knelt and one approached fearlessly, fed from his outstretched hand.

"Draco." I stepped further onto the stone patio. "Tea."

He looked at me almost blankly. "Yes, mother." I remember when there was inflection in his voice; boyish excitement, indignation, laughter or mulish obstinance. Now, it was flat and emotionless. Like our lives. I shook off the thought. No sense in sentimentality.

He came into the solarium just after me. He sat across from me, as he always had. His father's chair remained empty.

"How are the birds?" Silence would kill me. I poured him a cuppa.

"Fine." He took up a scone.

"I'd like you to have a jacket on in this weather. It's too cold to be about the grounds in only shirstleeves."

He scowled at me. I withered inside. "What the hell does it matter what I wear, mother? What does it matter now if I live or die? If either of us lives or dies?"

I looked down at my crumbs. His recent dark moods frightened me.

He shook out the latest Daily Prophet. "Perhaps we could both simply amble about naked, mother." I felt my face flush. He made a dismissive gesture. "Not as though anyone shall come to visit us, eh?" His gaze lingered on me. "Oh, don't be embarrassed, mum. You're still…fit."

"Enough!" I hissed, slapping the tabletop. "I'm sick of your depressing sulk, Draco! And I am _not_ to be the receptacle for your bitterness. You are stuck here for a year. Make the best of it and be glad it isn't Azkaban or execution."

"Like my father?"

My lips tightened.

"Do you miss him, mother?"

I swallowed and straightened my eating utensils. "Of course, I do."

Draco scoffed at that and I knew my expression read shock when I looked at him. "Please, mother. Not even a tear for your beloved husband?"

"How dare you?" I seethed. "How dare you insinuate knowledge of my feelings?"

"You have feelings?"

"Go to your room!" I barked.

"Gladly," he retorted. His chair scraped loudly as he left. Watching him go, I realized he'd been barefoot this entire time. I called the elf to remove the tea tray, and sat at the empty table until my back and sides ached.

That evening I dined alone. I hardly tasted the soup, much less the veal. I pushed my plate away. The manor was so quiet, so empty. With the portraits gone, it seemed even emptier. I was empty, too. I understood my son's accusation. Truthfully, he was right. I was numb from my fingers to my toes. It seemed the only thing that made me feel anymore was…but I mustn't think such things. I pressed my fingers hard into my eyelids until I saw light globules expand and explode.

When I opened my eyes again, Draco was standing in the dining room archway. The way the moonlight etched through the windows onto his shadowed profile made him appear ethereal. Angelic. He was still barefoot and in shirtsleeves. He was holding a bottle and staring at me. How long had he been thus?

"Draco?"

"Mother." He made no motion to come toward me.

"Are you hungry?"

I saw the glint that indicated his eyes drop to my barely touched plate. "No. You?"

I shook my head.

"Will you drink with me, mother?" He held out the bottle. I recognized it – his father's favorite wine. There were few bottles left in the cellar and Lucius had reserved them for the most special of occasions…or the most intolerable. I recalled a good many of those bottles disappearing during the Dark Lord's stay. But now, I supposed, we could drink whatever we wanted.

I gestured to a chair. "I will."

He produced two glasses from behind his back as he approached the table. It pleased me strangely that he had counted on my joining him. A tap of his wand, and the cork slid easily from the bottle. I smiled at the trick. "Better at that than your father was."

"I imagine I'm better at many things than my father was." He propped his bare feet on the surface of the Black family's fine mahogany table, tossed his wand carelessly beside them. I bit my tongue. He linked his fingers behind his head and tilted his chair back. He was challenging me. I ignored his antics, the way I'd done when he was two.

"So, mother." The wine hadn't breathed nearly enough, but he'd poured anyway. "I owe you an apology."

I blinked at him. "What?"

"For what I said today at breakfast. I apologize."

I worried he was unwell. This from the boy – man, now – whose father had told him that 'apologizing is weakness and admitting fault.' I wasn't certain how to react, what to say. He read my confused expression.

"Do you accept?"

Oh. "Yes. Of course, son." I sipped the bitter, heavy red. Draco swirled his thoughtfully. He was staring at me. It was highly unsettling.

"You look pretty in the moonlight, mother." He drank in gulps and thunked his empty crystal to the table. I jumped. I jumped again when his chair righted and banged the floor. "Father ever tell you that?" He asked. "That you look pretty?" He chuckled at my reticence. I sensed cruelty in the sound. He answered his own question. "I doubt it. I doubt many pleasantries ever passed between you and father."

I put my hands flat before me. "Draco, please stop."

"Stop what? Being honest, for once?" He poured another. "I think a great heaping dose of honesty is just what we need right now, don't you? Here, I'll go first. I'm a virgin, still. That should please you, at least. I nearly fucked Pansy Parkinson in back of Borgin and Burkes summer before my sixth year. But she got scared and ran out." He smiled and looked at the ceiling nastalgically. "That was…the last really good thing I remember happening to me. What about you, mother?"

I was caught a bit off guard by the virginity comment. "What?" I stammered.

"The last really good thing that ever happened to you. What was it?" He leaned forward.

I scanned my memories. Good things, good things…Draco was born. Draco didn't die. That was all I had, it seemed. "When I took your hand and led you away from the battle at Hogwarts."

"Ah. That it, then?" I nodded. "I don't believe you," he said, not giving me time to respond. "I think the last really good thing to happen to you, mother…was becoming a widow. Was it?"

"You're cruel," I whispered.

"Am I?" His face clouded. "I have a memory…" He waved his hands in the air amorphously. "I must have been 14 or 15. I remember hearing something very late one night. I looked out of a crack in my door. D'you know what I saw?"

I couldn't stop the shaking or the tears. I threw my hands over my ears. "Draco," I warned.

"I saw father pulling you down the hall by your hair. I saw you pull your wand and him slam your wrist into the wall. I saw you begging him to stop and him tearing your dress and – "

"_Draco!" _I shouted.

"I thought that was what sex was, mother!" He shouted, too. "For the longest time, that's what I thought. Can you believe that?" He laughed. "Guess that's why Pansy ran, eh?"

I shuddered to imagine my son had done such a thing, or was even capable. "Oh, I know better now, mum. Don't worry." As if he'd read my mind…

I didn't realize I was crying until he reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief. I picked it up and sobbed quietly behind it. He watched me, drinking his wine, until I calmed. "Feel better?" He asked.

I shook my head. I felt like utter shite and completely humiliated. "I read something fascinating about peacocks this morning." He thumbed the base of his glass. "That when the dominant male dies, the next in line - one of his own brood, of course – inherits the entire flock. Becomes their new leader. He gets the first feed, the best roost…he even gets the choice hen. _Even_ if that hen is his mother hen. Imagine that."

My body went frigid. I stared at the tabletop.

"He just sort of slides right in," Draco murmured. I jumped yet again when he pushed back his chair. He rose, but I didn't watch his progress. Then, I felt cool fingers slip across the back of my neck. They boldly tugged at a thin shank of hair loosed from my bun. "I didn't hate you, mother. All those years ago. You're afraid I do, that I resent you for being weak and letting him terrorize you. But I didn't. And I still don't. I hate that I never knew you."

When he stopped talking, all I heard was my breath coming fast. I had nothing to say, nowhere to begin. His fingers left my near-bare shoulder to tilt up my chin. I looked into eyes I hardly recognized, staring down at me with rough gentleness. "You certainly are pretty in the moonlight, mother."

Then he left. I stared at the empty wine bottle. It produced no handkerchiefs for me.


	2. Great Red Dragon

Briefly: Thanks to my own dragon...always my prat in the hat...and to Fortuna Mirth for her encouragement. She's a remarkable writer, so check her out. The painting Narcissa recalls in this story is by William Blake and is very evocative. Wiki it if you're unfamiliar!

Practicing Peacock

Chapter 2. Great Red Dragon

My baths are sacrosanct. I have always felt that in the scalding water, I am an island to myself. Washing is secondary to contemplation. During the Dark Lord's stay, I warded myself into my bath chamber every evening and prayed for peace. Then, after all was said and done, and the bodies buried and memorials erected…I lowered my defenses.

I should not have done so.

I was submerged, allowing the water to work at rinsing my hair. The muffled hum was soothing, and the clicking of my nails against the porcelain tub was a clanging echo. If only I hadn't needed to breathe…

I emerged in a great splash, gasping, heaving, spluttering. I wiped my eyes and opened them to see –

"Draco!"

He stood beside the tub a few feet away. He was shirtless and his sleep pants now splashed. His feet were bare.

I scrambled for the towel I'd left on a nearby chair, but it was gone, and if I emerged anymore, I would have no modesty to speak of. "What – what the devil are you doing in here?" I sounded crazed.

He held out my towel, but said nothing. I couldn't bloody well reach. My lips thinned. "I said, what are you doing in here?"

He stepped closer, feet slapping in the pool I'd created, and held out the towel. I snatched it. My breaths resounded off the tile. "Turn away," I snapped. He stared. The corner of my plush towel soaked in the standing water. "Goddammit, turn away! Or…get out!" I pointed to the door. He turned away.

I watched him warily as I stood, immediately wrapping the towel around my frame. I wished it was bigger and toed the plug loose. Quietly, the water began to drain. My eyes cut to the table by the door where my wand rested. Was I afraid of my own son?

"Now," I said calmly. "What are you doing in here?"

He looked over his shoulder to check I was covered. His back rippled with the motion. I swallowed.

"I came to talk," he said.

Unbelievable. "While I'm in the bath, Draco?" He nodded. He was so broken. I let out the breath I'd been holding. "May I dress before we talk?"

Then he turned fully. "Must you?"

My full-body flush was weakness incarnate. "I should like to, yes," I whispered. My night gown and dressing gown hung from the door hook.

He shrugged. "Very well." He was waiting.

"Draco, leave!" He closed the door behind him. I dried and dressed hurriedly, trembling. Out in my room, he sat on the edge of my bed. I pulled the chair and my hairbrush from my vanity. I set the chair so I could face him, but before I lowered into it, he reached a hand to me.

"Let me," he said.

"What?"

He gestured to the brush in my hand. "Let me brush your hair. While we…talk."

Insane…I gave him the brush. He made a twirling gesture with his hand and I turned so my back was to him. He was fairly knowledgeable with the brush, beginning at the ends to work the out the tangles. It was soothing. I recalled vaguely my sisters combing and braiding my hair before bed when we were girls. And now my son tugged it, brushed it and seemed to wrap it around his fingers. My eyes fell half-closed and my shoulders relaxed.

"Mother."

I'd forgotten he wanted to talk. "Mm?"

My hair was well-combed, but Draco kept stroking it, realizing I was captive. "Do you think we're cursed?"

Cursed? I pulled away, turned in the chair to look at him. "No, Draco. I don't think we're cursed."

Those grey circles under his eyes… "I think I'm cursed, then," he said. "Or I'm insane as Aunt Bella was."

I hesitated, but reached for his face. I smiled, or tried to. "Why, my dragon? Why do think that?" I took my brush, noticed his hand shaking.

"I can't sleep, mother."

I nodded. "Nightmares?" I'd certainly had my fair share, and sometimes still did.

He shook his head and stood. When he did, his chest brushed close to my face. When had my boy grown into a man? "I feel like there's some kind of…creature upon me. On my back, trying to…press me down. It's arms are like bones around my neck…they tighten." He walked to my window. "I hear it whisper things…awful things."

It was frightening, hearing him speak this way, seeing him the way he was. He looked like his father in the days before his execution; tormented by guilt, nightmares and hallucinations, fearful of the dementor's kiss that he knew was coming. I admitted to myself that I _was_ frightened of my son. I approached him slowly.

He was leaning on the sill. I took a breath and put my hand flat against his sinewy back.

"Son," I whispered. "There is no beast on your back. You simply…have much darkness in your past. And things have changed now."

He turned toward me. My hand slid around his ribs and I felt the tight muscles beneath his cool skin. I pulled the hand away, but he caught it, held it over his heart. It beat like a rabbit's. I struggled with my own beast and did _not_ flex my fingers into his flesh. He was looking down on me, stepped a step closer.

"Draco," I whispered.

"Have things changed, mother?" His hands seemed so big now…one of them cupped the side of my head, tilted it to face him properly. "Is the darkness gone that simply?" His eyes were a darker blue than I remembered, or perhaps it was just the dimness of the room…or the fact they seemed to be devouring me. "I still feel it. Like a devil lurking."

"No devils lurk here," I told him. I hoped to be reassuring him, but suddenly my skin crawled at shady images of horned, gargoyle faces peering around corners as I passed… "Draco, the solicitor said there are healers we can talk to if we need. There would be no shame in…"

He was laughing ruefully, fingers just touching my jawline. "Healers," he mumbled. "Can they heal souls now?"

My mothering heart broke. Every risk I had taken, every painstaking protection I had cast on my boy – magical or not – seemed to have failed. I cracked like a crystal vase and let the shards crumble, pressed my face into his palm, kissing it. I grabbed him and gathered him to me, pressing those same kisses to the man's chest that buoyed me. "I'm so sorry!" I cried. His arms settled around me and I felt his face moving over my head. Was he smelling me? "I tried, Draco! I tried _so_ hard!"

I thought of the souls I'd seen sacrificed – children killed, people slaughtered in my own home, the screams of Riddle's victims freezing me in the night, Lucius and Severus… I sobbed even harder. Poor Severus…

"It's not your fault, mother." He spoke calmly, rubbing gentling hands up and down my back. "Shush. It isn't your fault."

"I can't fix you!" The truth sliced my throat open as it emerged. "I can't help you, Draco. I don't know how! Tell me what you need." I was ready to drop to my knees, to cut out my own heart and put it aside his that he may have two. I would behold the burning Milagro. I would take the devils back to hell myself and stay there if need be. He was my _son_! "I will do anything," I promised. He stared at me. My hands held his face. He was so still…so quiet.

Some fluttering in my belly… His hands cupped the back of my head, supporting it. "Draco?" No sound save for the crisp 'c' of his name…

Then his lips were on mine.

If there is a place in hell for me – if there is indeed a hell – I hardly fear it. I've burned far hotter than any witch on any stake. I've felt the fever in my mad son's skin, brain and mouth. I surrendered to it, to him. In one of Andromeda's hidden books I recalled a muggle painting. As a girl it had frightened and intrigued me. It was called _The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun. _

I hardly remember the painter. Maybe I never knew. But I never forgot the work; the hugeness of the horned beast, its spread membranous wings, the towers of its legs and the supine blonde in mortification beneath it.

I was become that woman. The dragon's tongue penetrated my mouth, seeking out every weakness. I'd never been kissed in such a way. Its hands groped, kneaded and caressed my flesh. I'd never been touched that way.

There was some awkward struggle. His hands lowering my arms upset my balance. I backed into the chair I'd occupied earlier and nearly fell over it. But this dragon was quick and graceful. It swept me up and away like a wind.

I was out of the flames. The fire extinguished suddenly when I felt cold against my back and reality enveloped me like my bath water. My arms were captive in my loosed dressing gown, baring my torso. My simple silk gown was rumpled and askew, a peaked breast nearly revealed. And I was on my bed.

The dragon heaved over me, his dark blue eyes nearly black. "This, mother?" He asked. "Would you do this?"

Oh, gods, he was hard upon my thigh – erect. Was he so…big? I shuddered. He felt it and I saw his lip curl. I wanted to scream. "No," I whimpered. "Please, Draco." Please what? He shoved away from me with a small roar and stormed from my room before I could fathom moving. My door slammed shut.

After minutes (hours?), my breathing slowed. My heart ceased its clamor. I sat up. Something pressed into my hip. My brush. I removed it dumbly. My wand. My wand was still in my bath chamber. I walked on shaky legs and retrieved it. I waved it. "Nox."

I climbed into my bed. My core ached and for the first time in a hundred years I wanted to touch myself, to erase the want. Shame was my sheet. I wrapped it around myself and gave in, clenched my eyes tight against the alien wetness my fingers encountered, the memory of what caused it. Oh, pleasure…I'd forgotten…I roiled in the submersion. So quick… I heard the sound I heard when under water and emerged spluttering, colored patterns of light swirling behind my eyelids.

The patterns shifted and danced. I saw the red dragon painting. The dragon shifted and I saw my son.

I wiped my disgusting fingers on my sheets and wept uncontrollably into my pillow. I cried til I could barely breathe. I dreaded the morning, the day ahead, the days to come, the weeks, the years... Sleep took me like a beggar.

I dreamed a peacock prowled the grounds. Its proud feathers morphed into huge membranous wings and it towered over me. I reached up to it. I offered it myself and was eaten up in the sun…


	3. Diagnosis

Thanks to my dragon always for the inspiration and whatnot; also to the unicorn of delight, for the bongo solo; and to Fortuna Mirth, who reviews and is spectacular, and who will find an homage inside to our favorite actress. And thank you to all of the quiet readers as well. Goddess bless the introverts.

Practicing Peacock

Chapter 3. Diagnosis

He was not at morning tea. I did not expect him. I stared at my bagel and picked at my fruit. My tea was tasteless and tepid. I'd slept deeply, but shortly, waking to the sunrise. I'd watched it from my balcony, numb to the chill air.

I dressed in a long, blue frock I hadn't worn since I was thirty. I'd lost weight, it seemed. Perhaps I would have celebrated the fact had I not been wracked with guilt, worry and fear. What was happening to my son?

And what was happening to me? What I felt the night before…what my body had felt…Mothers didn't feel such things.

I wanted to heal my son. I wanted to help him, to be the mother I had been denied being before, to hold him and touch him… I blushed. Not like _that_, I thought. But the images, the…yearnings had come unbidden. Whatever was tainting him needed fixing. I feared it would taint me, too, and turn us into something…horrible – some mutated love.

Or lust. I shivered.

I considered consulting a healer as I pruned my plants. The detailed, delicate work of raising orchids distracted me from the destructive thoughts in my mind. Draco would not tolerate a healer, I imagined. He would be embarrassed. Moreso than that, he would feel betrayed. And I would die before I would betray my broken boy. And how would I even begin to explain?

I ventured onto the grounds. The fur trim on my coat tickled my jaw and bloody peacocks clustered about me, wanting feeding. Obviously Draco had not tended them today. Well, they could scratch. I hated the birds…the desperate hens and strutting cocks. I tolerated their company while I visited my roses. My experimental charms and fertilizers had them blooming prolifically. I swiped my wand and cut a few for a bouquet.

He didn't appear at lunch. The sandwiches I'd prepared went hard. I pushed away the plate of tomatoes and rested my elbows on the table. There was parchment on the writing desk in the library. And a quill. So swiftly I could write to St. Mungo's… My fingers itched and twitched. I would simply have to speak to him. Last night needed resolving, like today and all the days to come.

I prepared a lunch tray and climbed the stairs carefully. At the end of the corridor, I saw Draco's room door cracked. I set my mouth and knocked, balancing the tea tray. "Draco?" No response. "Draco, I've brought you tea." Still nothing. "You must eat, son. And we should…we should talk."

The room was far too quiet. My forehead creased. I entered despite not having his invitation. Perhaps he was in the bath… "Draco?"

His bed appeared undisturbed. I doubted that he'd slept there. I stepped further in, meaning to set the tea tray on the chest of drawers against the wall. But I saw… The tray crashed to the floor. Behind my shocked fingers I gasped his name, froze in place.

He lay on the floor beside his bed, curled and still. "Gods, please!" All I could hear was my own heart slamming in my chest. I nearly slipped on the discarded silver tray and stumbled to his side. Shaking hands flew over his body. He was cold. "Draco!"

An irrational part of my brain screamed that I was hallucinating, that this was another nightmare and I would wake sweating as usual. But that was not true. My fingers scrambled for his chest. His arm was curved over it and I pushed underneath.

His heart was beating. It was infinitely slower than mine, but beating. Amazingly I was not crying. I touched him only once more, kissed his temple. "Hold on, my dragon."

When my feet hit the stone stairs the sobbing began. I could barely see by the time I reached the floo and I hardly remember the call I made; only that I was told a healer would come immediately and that I was to wait where I was. Where I was? Wait _here _while my son lay _up there_ in distress?

I fretted and paced before the great fireplace, alternately crying and wringing my hands. This was my fault. This was last night bled over to today. I groaned. But what could I have done? What _should_ I have done? Not fucked my son, surely!

But he'd needed me…reached out for me…perhaps in the only way he knew how.

And I'd said no. I'd pushed him away, pushed him too far away. Gods, if he'd done something to himself… Oh, if he…_died_! "No!" I shouted to no one.

"He will be fine," I muttered to myself. "He will be fine. He's survived worse. Far worse. Oh, Merlin, please!" I wondered if the things in my head were the things in any mother's head in this situation. Draco weighed only a half stone at birth; he'd been slightly premature and cried very little; his tiny fists had flexed at my breasts when he nursed; he'd slept on his belly very early; I'd cried foolishly the day of his first hair cut, watching the flaxen silk pile on the Persian rug…and I should have done something sooner…

Green flame erupted and jolted me from my shock. I barely took note of the woman's appearance, just grabbed her white robe and pulled. "This way!"

She was on my heels as we mounted the steps, asking me things. "What is the patient's condition?"

"I – I don't know. He's unconscious." My voice shook.

"How old is the patient?"

"He's…he's 18."

"His relation to you?"

"He's my son!" I sobbed.

We raced to his door where I practically shoved the witch through. She was at his side directly, brisk in her ministrations and waving her wand confidently over him. I stood a few feet behind, afraid to impede and feeling utterly helpless and…like a failure of a mother. But my self-pity would not assist my son. "What can I do?" I asked.

She looked at me over her shoulder, seemed forty-ish with wise eyes and a dark brown bun. "Floo the hospital again." She spoke calmly, clearly and fimly. "Ask for Healer Januous. I'm Healer McCrory. Tell them I've asked for him."

I nodded and hurried back to the floo. The receptionist at St. Mungo's was brusque and informed me this Januous would be along directly. I waited still and patient, avoiding thoughts of the healer and my son upstairs, for about three minutes until the green flames flared again.

Healer Januous was an older man, perhaps 70 – still young for a wizard, really. Something about him immediately calmed me. He was unhurried, but intent. He smiled when he stepped from the floo and took a second to dust his robes. "Ms. Malfoy?"

"Yes." He took my hand.

"Let's see to Draco, shall we?" He'd been well-informed obviously, but the gesture was genuinely reassuring.

I led him, too, up the steep stairs. "Quite a climb to make day in and out," he commented. But he was hardly winded. I only nodded.

In Draco's room, the witch had levitated him to his bed. Januous went to her side. I shifted from foot to foot just inside the door. It was possible they used a silencing charm to speak. I overheard none of their conversation. Januous produced his own wand and cocked his head toward me. Healer McCrory nodded and approached.

"Ms. Malfoy. May we speak in the hall?" But she was already leading me there gently by my elbow. I glanced back to see the old healer producing shrunken equipment from a bag I hadn't noticed.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked in the corridor. "Is my son alright?"

She nodded, took hold of my hands. "Listen," she said. "Your son is suffering from something we've seen only recently at the hospital. Healer Januous is extraordinarily gifted in treating it."

"What is it?"

This was a witch who dealt with hysterical mothers often. She squeezed my hands. "We simply call it Dark Mark poisoning." I blinked at her. "Many…prisoners in Azkaban suffer it. We've been studying and treating them with great success."

Poisoning… "Please explain," I whispered.

She seemed surprised that I was asking for an explanation. Maybe she just expected more desperate demands. "It seems that after the fall of the Dark Lord, most Death Eaters and…victims of the Dark Mark began to grow ill. Their symptoms were similar; hallucinations, nightmares, loss of appetite, mood swings, insomnia, inexplicable pain. It's a bit different for each. But it culminates in this – a complete exhaustion and collapse. Usually brought about my some recovered memory or other stressor."

I nearly crumpled. "It won't kill him?"

She shook her head. "Admittedly, a few died at first. But we've found the effective method of treatment." Her face gentled and her thumbs stroked the backs of my hands. "It sounds…terrible. But I beg you to hear me out. For your son's sake."

I felt tears coming again, so I just nodded. From her apron pocket, she produced what looked like a ring. Indeed, she fitted it onto her thumb. "This is a bleeding tool," she began.

The walls melted, swirled. The floor suddenly undulated beneath me. She steadied me carefully, avoiding touching me with the hand wearing that…_tool_. "Listen, Narcissa."

My son _bleeding_? My son's _blood_? These were things I lived to avoid at all costs! "No," I moaned.

"Shhh." She next produced a small vial and unstoppered it. "Drink this. It's just a calming draught."

I snatched and gulped it, scowling at her knowing smile. "There," she said. I swiped my mouth with my arm and handed back the empty vial. "He will be given a series of brief therapeutic bleedings over the next 4 to 7 days. This tool –" she held up her hand "is specially designed and powerfully charmed to draw out the darkness that's rooted in his bloodstream. In fact, the blood itself will appear black, and is syrup-thick. Do you understand?"

I nodded. The calming draught had worked instantly. She could have told me they had to sever his arms and I would have nodded. "You will take him to St. Mungo's then?"

"No. He will recuperate better here. Under your care."

"So you will only come to…bleed him?" I asked.

Here, she hesitated. "We intend to teach _you_ how to perform the procedure, mother."

Oh, she was good. Dose me with potions and then tell me I would be butchering my son while playing on my maternal instincts. I actually barked a rough, ironic laugh. "Me?"

She was still bloody smiling. "The bleedings will be frequent at first. It is more practical for you to attend him than to have healers flooing in and out. And…"

"And what?"

"And your presence will be more affective to him than any stranger's, I assure you."

"I see." That must have been a strong potion. "Well, then." I gathered my wits and my strength. "When am I to learn?"

She gestured into Draco's room. "Healer Januous is waiting to begin now." She removed the odd ring and held it out. "You will need this. You should perform the first operation yourself. It is for the best."

The thing was heavy. I looked at it in my palm. A coil of knotty silver culminated in an impossibly sharp stylus about an inch long. She helped me arrange it so the awl passed over my thumb's knuckle. I followed her into the room like a prisoner to execution.

Januous was expecting us. "Come, Ms. Malfoy." At his side, I looked down on my son. His face was drawn, eyes sunken. How had this happened so quickly? "There is usually a triggering event," Januous said. Whether I'd spoken aloud or he intuited my question, I didn't know. "Then, the poison in the blood collects in the major organs, including the brain. The body shuts down."

I was shaking. "It's my fault."

"No, mother." The witch spoke. "You'd no way of knowing. Nor did he. And it isn't exactly public knowledge."

But _they_ were the ones who didn't know. The unspeakable thing that had passed between me and my son.

"I think it's time this became public knowledge. There could be others like your boy," Januous said. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." I felt my consciousness drift up, just above my body. It was as if I was watching myself from another plain.

Januous took Draco's arm. His Dark Mark stood pitch against his paleness. The healer stretched that pale arm until the wrist rested over a wide, squat bowl. A crescent-shaped hollow cradled Draco's slim forearm so that his wrist dangled in the bowl's hollow. I noted the design on the porcelain – cranes or storks in stark white contrast to a cerulean blue background.

I felt the healer taking my own limp arm. "Did Helen tell you about the blood?" he asked.

"That it will be black." I answered automatically.

"Mm, correct. You will bleed him until it runs red and healthy." I nodded, watching cranes and storks. "Now." Then he curved my hand around my son's wrist. The silver stylus rested against his skin. "Just here." Januous indicated a bright green vein bulging to the surface. "Very gentle pressure. And be quick."

The witch was close by, brushing against me. I felt -heard- a sickening pop beneath my thumb and squeezed my eyes shut. "You must look, Narcissa. You must watch for the red blood."

"Oh, gods…" I opened my eyes and looked. Pumping thickly, slowly and like an evil oil from Draco's wrist was the poisoned blood. I wouldn't need a healer's license to recognize it. It was the devil's own black bile. My stomach tensed. Nausea washed over me.

"Breathe, mother," McCrory soothed. "You are doing it perfectly."

It was amazing how much there was. Instinctively, I'd lifted my thumb away so the sap could drip. Januous settled Draco's slim arm snugly in the bowl's rest. "Every four hours," he said. "I believe after a day or so, you will see healthy blood much sooner. Eventually, you will see no black at all."

But it seemed interminable. The sludge oozed from my son's arm. Helen leaned into me. "You will also notice his Mark's fading as the poison leaves his system."

I felt a sudden warmth prick my heart. I knew how much he abhorred the Mark. "Will it disappear?" I asked.

Januous and McCrory exchanged glances. "We don't know, exactly."

"Will the poison come back?"

"We don't know that either," Januous said evenly. "All we know is how to cure it now."

It was good enough for me. I gasped when I saw a bead of red blood bubble through the puncture wound. Helen's hand found my back. "A simple healing charm, Narcissa. You know one?"

Unthinking, I drew my wand from my sleeve. "Sanacuteous," I sussed. The hole sealed swiftly.

"Good. Excellent." Januous sighed in relief. He looked at me. "Alright, then?"

I broke down unashamedly. The witch held me. I looked accusingly at the bowl of liquid malfeasance. Januous collected it and performed a vanishing charm. He set the empty bowl on the bedside table for the next time.

"I must go," he said. "Helen can answer any remaining questions. She will check in once a day until Draco is recovered."

I composed myself. "When will he regain consciousness?"

Januous looked back from the doorway. "Oh. Any moment now, really. But he will drift in and out." The healer left.

I looked to Draco, tucking his recently brutalized arm against his side and covering him gently with a sheet. What to do when he woke? What to say?

The witch produced several vials, set them beside the bleeding bowl. "These are for him. Marked. Sleeping, calming and one for pain." She held one up. "Dab this one on his wrist if he's conscious for a bleeding. He will feel nothing."

"Conscious?" I cried. "He will be conscious for this?"

"Sometimes, of course he will." She rubbed my back. "I'm a mother, myself," she said. "I can imagine how difficult this is. But you _can_ do it."

I touched my son's handsome face, saw the red dragon, saw myself in the sun. "Yes. Of course, I can." I had to…


	4. Bedroom Hymns

To my pratty dragon and Mew and the beautiful disaster that lurks in my reviews and to all of my other kind followers. If you have access to Florence and the Machine's song "Bedroom Hymns," play it loud now. You won't regret it. Oh, yes...there's minor bloodplay ahead. If that makes you squeamish, I beg you to skip this chapter.

Practicing Peacock

Chapter 4. Bedroom Hymns

My back ached from my vigil. I'd been perched on the edge of his bed for nearly an hour; watching, waiting. The sconces' glow played upon his face. He was beautiful…detailed like a masterful sculpture. I traced – ever so lightly – the dips below his cheekbones, his brow, his soft bottom lip. My sleeping dragon was perfection.

I realized how alone we were. Here, the expanse of the manor breathing restfully around us, Draco and I were an island in a river I would never know again. I sighed and stood, stretched til my spine popped. The sound echoed.

In the center of his room, I slipped from my shoes and raised my arms. My eyes closed. Head tilted back. I communed…called on the Great Goddess to give me strength…to see me through the difficulties ahead…to help me mother my son. I called on the God, too…to protect me from the temptation lurking just in my peripheral vision, to make me impenetrable. My lips whispered the words without touching. I felt the circle enclose me.

"Dea tueri filius…facere me fortis ut erant…auxilium me mater eum…magni tueri me a tentationem…facere me impenetrabilis…"

It was not communing in the soil as I would have liked, but I felt whole just the same. I closed the circle and turned, feeling tired and peacable.

He was staring at me. "Draco!" My hip pressed into his rib when I resumed my perch. I searched his eyes. "Son?"

But he was already drifting again… "Beautiful," was all he murmured.

I kissed his forehead and thought of my address to the deities. Such selfish prayers… I was exhausted. I wouldn't leave him, so I climbed onto the bed beside him, curling to face him. My hand lay flat on his chest. His heartbeat drummed me to sleep and I dreamed…

I dreamed of the Goddess herself. She lounged on a stone throne in a green-glowing forest. The God lay at her feet, rubbing one of them languidly. They were magnificent. Her spice-colored hair tumbled over her pale naked form. Leaves hither and thither clung to her curls. And the God…was as if bronzed. His hair was golden sun…and so young. He was erect. I felt myself blushing and looking away…

The Goddess chuckled. "Do not be demure, mother. I know he is…exquisite." She rose and crouched beside the God, who kissed her thigh shamelessly. "Come," she said. She extended a hand. I saw intricate designs inked into the skin from wrist to shoulder…snakes, birds, plants and ripened fruits. She was literally in bloom. I turned the arm as I held her hand.

She tugged me down close and stared into me, turning my head first to her, then to the God who grinned almost devilishly. I swallowed. "He is…my lover," she whispered to me. He took hold of my free arm and tugged me further, til I gave in and lay amongst them. Her fingers were undressing me, stroking my flesh as she revealed it.

Her touch was fire. "He fills me," she went on. He cradled my head while dipping his lips to my aching nipples. I arched into the suckle. "And when I am with child…" The Goddess' fingers were playing at my most secret folds. "He leaves me," she said, plunging fingers into me. I cried out into the mouth of the Adonis. "Then I give birth." She stroked me knowledgeably, as if my body was her own. I peered over the precipice, ready to spiral.

The God held me tenderly, quietly, his earthy brown eyes devouring my pleasured writhing. "I birth _him_, mother," the Goddess hissed. Her free fingers tilted my chin to look up at the gilded masculinity that supported me. "And I raise him to be one with the earth." The windy voice of the Goddess caught me up, still. "And he makes love to me and we are one again!"

I gasped, disbelieving. The bronze of the God's skin paled to porcelain. Brown eyes blued. Golden hair silvered and he became…

"Draco!" I arced up abruptly, sweating and disoriented. My hands flew to my face. I breathed shallowly and felt sweat on my brow and chest. "Merlin…" I murmured. Draco slept peacefully.

My wand was on the bedside table, I grabbed it and performed a tempus charm. It was nearly time for his next bleeding. I shook off the dream and slid from his bed. After using the lavatory and washing my hands, I prepared the necessary potions. I had just rested his arm across the storks and cranes when he woke.

"Mother."

He startled me. I looked at his face. His eyes looked a little clearer now, less confused. "Draco. Son." I touched his soft hair. "How do you feel?"

He blinked. "Tired. What happened to me?"

I told him. His expression darkened, and when I explained the process he was about to undergo, he looked away from me. "Go on, then," he said.

I dabbed the pain potion on his wrist and slid the ring on my thumb. "It won't hurt, dragon." He scowled. The second time was easier. At least I was prepared this time for the puncture, and then for the black mire escaping into the bowl. "Do you want to see?" I asked him hesitantly.

He turned his head, took in the procedure. When he saw the black blood, his face greened. "What the hell?" He asked.

"It's made you ill, love." I was watching carefully for the first red droplet. "But we shall soon dispel it. I promise."

Draco just stared, disgusted by the entire operation. "There. See?" I pulled my wand quickly. The red _had_ come quicker this time. I tried not to appear relieved, wanted him to see only confidence in my treatment and my belief in it. He studied my face as I vanished the black blood and set the bowl aside.

"Mother." His eyes hadn't left me.

"Yes?" I avoided his gaze by unstoppering potions.

"It wasn't your fault."

I paused briefly, but handed him the pain potion. "I know that," I said. "This is for pain."

He pushed the vial back into my hand. "Nothing hurts."

"Fine." I stoppered it. "This one is for sleep."

"I just woke up." He pushed my hand away. He watched me pick up the last. "And I don't need that one, either. No bloody potions, mum! Stop."

"Draco, let me care for you!" I snapped.

"You _are_, witch!" He sighed in exasperation and rubbed his eyes. "I feel fine, mother. Just tired. I want to know you are alright."

"It frightened me," I admitted.

"I'm sorry."

I chuffed and sat on the edge of the bed. "You've nothing to be sorry for, son. You didn't do this on purpose." I glanced at him.

He shook his head. "Are you hungry?" I asked. He shrugged. I nodded. "Soup, I think. And some crusty bread?" I patted his shoulder and left his room.

Our elf was gone for the day. Alone in the dark kitchen, I thought back to the dream I'd had. It was fairly obvious in its meaning. I was unable to forget the confrontation with my son from the night before. Shameful as it was, my body had imprinted on that pleasure and wanted more…

My wand made quick work of vegetable preparation. We'd had only a paid day elf for months, and I'd become re-acquainted with cooking. I wand lit a stove eye and set my pot to a high boil. Of course, charms and spells made cooking and such chores far more convenient. But I often missed having even the company of a constant elf just the same.

I looked out the window over the stove. The moon was waxing gibbous, soon to be full and white. I love the full moon… I checked the charms on the cold box when I pulled out apple juice. I hoped Draco wouldn't mind it – we were out of nearly everything else. I would remember to order groceries tomorrow.

I carried up dinner for both of us. When I entered his room, the bed was empty. "Draco?" I kept the fear out of my voice…mostly.

He appeared in the doorway of the lavatory, tying the waist of his sleep pants. I breathed again. "Any dizziness?" I asked.

"No."

"Good." I stacked pillows for him and freshened his bed with a quick wand flick. He climbed in. I didn't notice the flexing of his sinewy arms…

"How long am I to be bedridden, then?"

"The healers didn't specify." I handed him his spoon. "I suspect just until the exhaustion wears off." I slid his wingback chair closer and sat. We ate in silence. I was pleased to see his appetite had improved. He drank the cold juice thirstily. I didn't notice the bobbing of his thick adam's apple…

He set his bowl aside nearly empty. "I'm sorry about last night."

I didn't notice his low, sleepy tone… "You couldn't help it," I whispered.

"You kissed me back."

I tensed. "I was afraid." I stared at the carrot and peas in my bowl.

"Me, too."

"We needn't discuss it," I said hastily.

His head dropped into the pillows and he stared up at the bed's white linen canopy. I didn't notice how long and sculpted his fingers were when they scratched his chest… "No, I suppose not," he mumbled. I also didn't notice the breadth of his shoulders, the width of his neck… "Wake me for the next…" He gestured weakly to the bowl by the bed.

"I will." My voice was a squeak. He slept, and I tidied away our dishes. After setting the cookware scrubbing downstairs, I decided my own rest was in order. Again, I slept beside my son.

Draco didn't wake for the next bleeding, though I tried per his request. Sleep had him firmly in its grip. In fact, he slept through the next several bleedings, waking only to eat his meals. I felt palpable relief when the duration of the bleeding decreased each time. It was working, but it didn't seem to be improving his attitude.

He was cranky or listless, talking little. When Healer McCrory made her promised visit at four o' clock, she told me this was normal. "It will be a few days before he starts to improve emotionally," she assured me. "The affliction is far deeper than just the blood, mother."

I cringed a bit. I hated when she called me 'mother.' Every time I looked at him, I felt more like a slatternly whore…

That evening, alone in my moonlit bath chamber, I caressed my skin under a thick layer of dense bubbles. Every nerve ending respoded eagerly to my touches. I couldn't remember feeling so alive. My breasts were full again. My nipples ached to be tweaked and shot currents to my core. I swelled there, too, like a mare in season. Thinking back to my earlier dream, to the Goddess who understood me and the God who became my son, I shuddered and came with an audible cry.

I wore a blue satin nightgown I hadn't touched in years. It no longer hung from my shoulders or sheathed me like a shroud. I turned before my vanity's mirror…an aptly named piece of furniture. I was pink and ripe as a young thing again. I felt the Goddess in me and smiled.

I communed before my altar this time. A white candle and a red one. I burned dragon's blood resin and patchouli, even dotted a bit of the thick oil behind each ear. It smelled of burning earth. I prayed for strength again, and for my son's restored health. I did _not_ pray to resist temptation…and sealed the deal with a few drops of my own bright blood, watching it sluice down the silver blade of my ebony-handled athame. It seemed my soul and my body had reached some agreement, made some decision... I didn't question the elements at work.

When it was time to tend my son, I tied on my white dressing gown and drifted down the hall. Draco was awake and looking very aware, indeed. He was cross-legged on the bed, holding his wand, hair tousled and wet. We'd probably bathed at the same time. There was a bottle of wine on the bedside table, opened, and an empty glass with dregs. I wondered if he'd fetched it himself.

When he saw me, his eyelids drooped minutely. I noticed.

"Come for my blood?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Vampire." He smirked.

My heart quickened. My own blood heated in my veins. "The red is coming much faster now." I placed the bowl at his side and he lay his arm across it. "You look better," I commented.

"You do, too." I smiled gently.

We no longer bothered numbing his wrist. He claimed it didn't hurt. I no longer flinched at all with the puncture. The process had become swift. We were nimble and practiced, but tonight…

One. Two. Three drops of black before a veritable spurt of red. "Oh!" I cried, unprepared for the speed. But before I could grab my wand, Draco grabbed me.

"Leave it," he rasped. He tugged my elbow up, catching my waist with his other arm and pulling. He was so fast, so strong… I lost my breath. My knee hit the bowl, sent it thunking to the carpet.

Not thinking, not fighting but _feeling... _I kissed him. We kissed hard and hotly, teeth gnashing and tongues… Oh, this was what a kiss should be! I tasted the tart tang of heady wine. My belly bottomed out. Seeing I would not resist, he released my arm. He needed both hands to tear at my robe. I arched into his patrolling, eager mouth, noting how he inhaled deeply the oil at my pulse points.

I'd forgotten the ring on my thumb until I reached for his face, wanting his lips on mine again. He hissed when the silver stylus nicked just beneath his jaw. Red lust spilled over my hand, down his neck. We froze, stunned. "My God…" I breathed.

Deftly, his fingers slipped the ring off and deposited it on the table.

There was no healing. Just blood. From his wrist, from his neck…it didn't matter. Our bodies were well-ahead of our minds, catching up to fantasies wherein we were already making love. I licked the little wound clean…Draco groaned, pushing me onto my back…his blood tasted coppery and was sticky on my lips. He kissed it off of them.

In my rational mind, I heard my nightgown tearing. In my irrational mind, it was reason being rent asunder. He sucked my breasts as if he could nurse life from me again. I clutched his head to me, red bled from my fingers into his white hair. I kissed the top of his head, mindless under his ministrations.

His hands demanded…they pried at my thighs, pushed at my gown, pawed my hips. And my own behaved no better…this was his body! This was his blood! All my selfish prayers…I could not get enough. I rubbed and clawed at his back, felt the jump and slither of those sinewy muscles flexing. His spine bowed beautifully under pale skin. I traced it and whimpered when his lips hit my belly and his hands splayed across it.

His elbows, shook, supporting his weight. He was kissing my stomach, caressing it with his face as though marking territory. It had been his home, after all. Perhaps he was returning to it. I squeezed his shoulders and watched the secret ceremony unfolding over my abdomen. "Son," I barely whispered, afraid to break the spell.

His eyes flicked up to mine. They were the darkest I'd ever seen them, but not with any poison. Dimness and passion made his pupils swallow the sky-blue iris. I could drown in that inky pool…I have many times now…

The pause lasted only a second. His hands were pulling and pawing again. He boosted my knees over his head and I felt my knickers slip down and away… He put his mouth on me.

Pleasure is so simple, so base and pure. Why did this pleasure feel so complex? I screamed at the sensations, beyond self-control. He ate me as if I tasted of ambrosia; lapping my wetness, veritably sucking my essence from me like an ill-conceived incubus.

But he was _my_ ill-conceived incubus; and as I shuddered in the fervent grips of a surprising and brutal orgasm, I wondered if that wasn't a truth. _The _truth: that this beast was never meant to be my son, but my lover, my soulmate – the God to my Goddess. Could fate be so cruel? Such a bitter bitch?

He was washing up and over me, the body of the dragon like a tide rolling in. No questions, no awkwardness other than his and my shaking fingers tussling at his pants' tie. Then he was freed and before I could even look, gauge my preparedness, he was pushing inside me.

We shouted together, both in our own pain. How long had it been? Initially, my body resisted his intrusion, cunt and thighs tensing. But his sweet gasps against my mouth, my neck, my jaw and the smell of wine on his breath intoxicated me completely. I felt his hands on my hips and for a second it felt as though other hands were alongside his – the Goddess' hands – encouraging me to open like the narcissus in spring. I rolled my hips up to him and brought him home.

He fucked me as any first-timer would; the hypnotic combination of rough eagerness and earnest curiosity and awakening pleasure. He'd learned some things, obviously, but not all. Still, he was rapture. Magic evaporated with the concept of motherhood. I didn't hide from him.

I wrapped him in my legs and arms, grunted and gasped with his hard, punishing thrusts. I let him hear what a woman sounded like, felt like and looked like. I stared into his eyes when they weren't clenched shut. I kissed and bit his lips, the now barely bleeding wound at his neck. The smears on his face, chest and shoulders had dried brown. I licked at those, too.

He pressed into me as far as he could when he came. I could feel his balls contracting just beneath my burning center. His mouth opened but only a strained whimper emerged. He didn't groan until his face fell into my neck. The wetness I felt there was more than just sweat.

My legs ached when I lowered them. He was heavy in my arms, pressing me into the duvet. What now?

I kissed his temple. "Oh, my dragon," I whispered.

"Mother…" He didn't raise his head. "I'm so…I'm so _sorry_." He wept.

No. I nudged his face up with my own. His expression… "I am not," I told him simply.

He blinked a few times. "Will you sleep with me tonight?"

I nodded. He kissed my lips. "Naked?"

I felt a smile form. It was a fondly remembered feeling. "If you wish."

Finally, he pushed up and off of me, grimacing a little when he looked down. Yes, the more sordid aspects of sex were presenting themselves. He made an adorable moue of disgust. As gracefully as possible, I closed my legs and sat up.

My poor, wretched gown… I slid out of it when I stood, felt the vestiges of lust leaking onto my right thigh. He was attempting shyly to tuck away his flaccid cock. Then, a sudden small panic lit his eyes.

"Gods," he breathed. "Should I not have…"

I knew what he referred to and waved off his concern. I'd been taking the potion since he was born. "No worries," I murmured. He looked relieved. I was rather surprised at his conscientiousness, even if it was a bit late. Blood smeared and dotted the white duvet. I knew a charm for that...

"Come, Draco." I gestured toward the lavatory. "A bath before bed?"

Oh, his sweet face… "Together?"

I nodded. "Faster that way."

He scrambled from the mussed bed, retrieving his wand almost guiltily. I watched him walk past, holding his untied pants up. I took my bloodied dressing gown from the mess and followed. Water was running. The sound was soothing.

But whatever raucous – whatever turmoil – I had so often sought solace from in that sound was already ebbing away, abating. Tile was cold beneath my feet. I watched Draco climb into the clawfoot tub. He looked up at me and held out his arms. I stepped in with him balancing me and settled between his legs. I leaned into him. He kissed my shoulders.

"This is wrong, isn't it?" He asked.

I thought of the Goddess and the God. "Is it?" I asked calmly. The hot water was cleansing…


	5. This Year's Love

To my faithful readers and reviewers, thank you. You've seen me through to the end of this jaunt. May there be many more. Furthermore, to Mew and Mys - the dears. And always, you Dragon...for your inspiration...and whatnot.

Practicing Peacock

Chapter 5. This Year's Love

When Draco was a child, then a boy, then a teenager, I would often stand quietly in his doorway and watch him sleep. If he started to stir, I moved on, content knowing my son would wake to walk another day.

This day was different. I watched him stir from the pillow beside his; watched his eyes begin to flutter reluctantly, the long lashes there brushing his scrunched cheeks. I held my breath and the comforter to my bare chest, hoping against hope.

His pure blue eyes took in the bed's canopy first, adjusted to the morning light. Then, a smile started to curve his full lips. "Good morning," he whispered.

Relief. "Good morning." I whispered back.

He rolled onto his elbow and met my stare. "Been awake long?"

I shook my head, lying. "Not long."

He reached a finger to my face and stroked my cheek. "Mmm." The sheets rustled as he shifted. "Can we do that again?"

I hated my pale complexion, knew it was revealing my pink lust. "Now?" I'd never made love in the morning, much less to my son. He slithered – slithered! – til he pressed against my body. I felt his erection stabbing my belly. He pulled my hand away from the blankets I gripped like a shield and slid it around his neck.

"Now," he answered. He pressed me into the mattress.

Oh, my rebellious body…every nerve woke in an instant. It was overwhelming. His morning breath was sweet…peculiarly like my own. We tasted each other's mouths. This was a slow exploration compared to last night's desperate, bloody insanity.

My eyes fought against closing. I wanted to watch him do these things to me; take each heavy breast in hand, bring them to his lips, lave my puckered nipples; kiss each rib, lick the dip above my hip. His fingers sparked down my legs, rubbing away the gooseflesh they caused. "You are so perfect," he mumbled in my navel. "So fucking gorgeous. Let me see you, mother."

I knew what he meant. He was pushing my legs open. But this I couldn't watch… The pleasure, the intensity of his eyes, hands and mouth on my core was devastating. I tossed my head back and whimpered my surrender, felt a finger investigate my wetness and heat. "Shit…" Did I say that?

He hissed in a breath and another finger. "Say that again."

I bucked. "Fuck, Draco! Please…"

"Please what?"

"Oh, please just touch me…more…further…don't stop!" I'd _never_ in my life been reduced to such…filth. But his lips sucked me so sweetly and his hand fucked me so completely. I felt a finger graze that place – that _place _– inside me and my words were not my own. "Oh, my gods!"

His tongue left me and I looked down. There was wonder on his face, and something more frightening: realization. "What is that?" He prodded again.

I took hold of his head so hard I nearly boxed his ears. "That's absolute magic, darling," I growled.

We laughed. Laughed? Who laughs when… But then bliss took me again as he found a rhythm to his fingers' thrusts. His tongue probed and parted my folds. He was drinking my essence, tasting greedily. He nipped, flicked and tugged at every fold, every petal of my blooming orifice.

I curled up to clutch at him, to deepen his angle. My body sweat and shook. Draco curled his other arm around my thigh, the hand searching across my abdomen. I keened when those fingers came into play. As gently as he could, he slicked the taut hood away from my swollen clit, studied the anatomical mystery.

"Oh, Merlin!" I gasped. "That's good, son. That's…"

He licked delicately and fire…a crucio of ecstasy climbed my spine. It wasn't orgasm…not like I'd ever known. It was a storm, a barrage of stabbing sharp luxuries that killed me a thousand times and just as quickly became too much.

"Stop!" I pushed his head from me. "Stop, darling." I caught my breath, felt my stickiness slick my thigh when he withdrew his hand. His arms snaked around me, forehead touched mine. His face smelled like me…

"Are you alright?" He kissed my temples.

I just nodded and nuzzled his neck. On his knees between my legs, his angry red cock prodded between my breasts. I bobbed a bit, stroking his hardness between my softness and he groaned deliciously. I gave a few more undulations, pulled him tighter against me, kissed his hard belly. I needed to…reset. And it was his turn, anyway…

"Lie back, baby," I murmured. He trembled, complying.

And there was my God in the golden daylight. Pale as the sheets and dewy. I straddled his thighs and stretched over him, loosing my tensed muscles and feeling his tense beneath my palms. He breathed heavily. I kissed him, never pressing to him fully. I travelled his jaw, his neck and shoulders with my lips, worshipping.

His ribs were ticklish. Again, the strange unabashed laughter passed between us before I reached the perfect symmetry of his hips and pelvic bones. Not even the Roman alphabet flaunted such a lovely V.

I kissed it, too, fluttered my fingers over it. I loved the electric jolt of his belly. His knees raised to balance me.

I stroked his thighs as I settled on my haunches. "Draco. You're perfect." He opened his mouth to reply, but I hushed him when I took hold of his hot erection. "Sshhh," I soothed. I played with the pressure, never having wanted before to produce response, to create pleasure with my touch. And he mirrored my earlier reactions, clenching his eyes and rolling his head side to side.

I let my own fingers explore, tracing veins and the delicate segments of his organ; cupped his balls and gently palmed them.

"Fu…mum…"

"Yes, dragon?"

"Oh…"

I dipped before he could continue, shattering his reason when my mouth closed over the head of his cock. "Fuck!" He shouted. Finally. I hummed in response, taking him in til I gagged just a bit. 'Out of practice, old girl,' I thought. I relaxed my throat. 'Better.' He tasted of salt, like seawater, clean and fresh. Bitter pre-cum on the back of my tongue… I swirled and sucked, swirled and sucked, stroked with my hand to keep full contact.

He bucked and whinnied like a stallion pony, choking on words. "Mother…I've never…"

I slowed my ministrations. He'd never? My eyes flicked up. When he met them, he moaned. "Please…"

And oh, I liked that…more than I ever would have imagined. But if he'd never… I slowed and lightened my work, fell to licking and kissing up the sides of his straining column. I wouldn't emasculate him with anything premature. I knew my dragon was discovering. I wanted him to feel every bit the man he had become, and selfishly still, I wanted to make very slow love to him this morning.

So I slid up his thighs, stroked his reddened face with sticky hands. I felt his erection pressed between my wet, ready pussy and his abdomen. "Alright, love." I reached behind me, raising up and positioning him.

He grunted and reached for my hips. "Christ, mum."

_This _position…I'd missed. He slid easily into me until I was seated against his raised thighs. I let out a breath, and undulated. Oh, hell yes… Our eyes closed in tandem, heads went heavy, brains melted.

"Mmmm." I rode him airily at first, more just rolling my hips. I was sensitive still, and the renewed sensation was like a limb that's been asleep tingling back to wakefulness. His death-grip on my hips increased and spurred me on. Soon, I was rising and falling methodically. My thighs burned. Gods, I would ache from this later…

Draco grunted with each decadent descent. He gritted his teeth. His top lip curled. His face was a rictus of pain and pleasure. I didn't want to imagine my own, hadn't closed my mouth once since my cunt had eaten his eager cock.

"Oh, fuck." He spat and moved quickly, rising up to meet me, clutching me tightly. "Faster," he pled. "Harder, witch!" His own thrusts jarred me.

But I wasn't fast and hard enough. With impressive agility and smoothness, he planted me on my back and raised one of my legs. "Ah!" The new angle scraped my g-spot.

My fingers scrambled down his back, nails scratching. He loved it. I gripped his tight buttocks, adored the feel of them flexing as he pumped in me like a piston gear. I felt the coiling spring. We were a well-oiled machine.

And Draco felt it, too. His desperate face lit. "That's it," he muttered. "I want to feel that, mum. I want to feel you milk me. Soon! How?"

How? Hell, I couldn't think. No, wait…I knew what I needed, wanted. "My stomach," I panted. "On my stomach!" I was wanton.

He flipped me briskly. I moaned when his cock slid out, then groaned when it slid back in. "Yes!" I breathed. "Like this. Fuck me, dragon!"

His pelvis slapped against my ass gratifyingly. The coil wound tighter. "Oh, my god." He settled his elbow by my turned head and whisked my hair aside. "Fuck, you feel so good," he huffed in my ear. "You're mine, mother. This is mine. And I'm yours…just for you…please, fucking hell…Narcissa, please cum…"

My given name sussed preciously from his lips. I put my face in the mattress, let my hot short breath get shorter still, let the burn spread like a wildfire through my belly and bones, let the curl and cut of the most licentious blade carve desire in my organs.

I let him take my life, temporarily. I gave him my magic, my original sin. I clutched the feather mattress in my fingers and clutched his masculinity in my cunt. I came like a demon damned to hell, wailed like a dying creature into the thick down and felt him tense.

He rode my surge with gusto, clinging to my waist with one hand and pulling my hair with the other. He pulled my face out of the bedding to hear my final cries. I was victorious as a Valkyrie.

His own release was quieter, more intense. He shuddered and filled me with his spendings. Only a few rough grunts answered my keens.

His face fell into my neck. We breathed for a time. I felt my heart slowing. Sweat glued us together. I felt it separating when I shrugged him off of me. He was damned heavy!

But how he glowed… I grinned down at him. He smiled tiredly in return. "I suppose another bath is in order?"

I nodded. "And then breakfast. And then, one more bleeding, I think."

His smile fell, but he acquiesced. "Suppose we should be sure."

I kissed him sideways and left our bed. My stretch felt positively miraculous. Our bath saw much hand-swatting and giggling. When was the last time I'd bloody _giggled_?

Breakfast was nearly the same. We lounged in dressing clothes at the solarium's little table, feeding each other fruit and bites of crepe. The day elf must have wondered mightily at our antics.

After dressing for comfort, we held his last bleeding in the drawing room. The sun shining through the windows made his red blood gleam. Overjoyed, I kissed and lapped it from his wrist before healing the tiny wound.

Draco caressed my head. "I may actually miss this," he said.

"I suppose we could keep it." I fingered the ring I'd just removed.

"Perhaps." We kissed like teenagers on the velvet chaise.

"Helen will come soon," I slurred into his mouth.

"Mmm, so will you," he answered. His hand was creeping into my bodice.

I pushed away reluctantly. "Go tend your damned birds," I said. "They miss you."

He grunted assent. "And after Helen leaves?"

"Then you may have your way with me again. And again." I stood and straightened my frock, touched my chignon back into place. "And again...if I'm not exhausted by dinner time."

"Wonderful."

I watched him from the patio doorway. The birds rushed to him, circled him. He patted each one, bent and crooned to them. I heard them clucking happily and understood why. It wasn't just food their master lavished. It was his attention...his love. I leaned smiling in the doorframe. I would cluck for him, too.

Healer McCrory was most pleased with Draco's recovery. She sat us both at the dining table and remarked on how healthy we looked. Draco caught my eyes and my blush.

"You must communicate from now on," Helen warned. "Tell your mother at the first signs of emotional disturbance, young master."

I watched him puff his tail feathers a little at her address. "I will," he said.

"We haven't seen any relapses yet, but we mustn't discount the possibility." She looked at me. "And you, Narcissa. Should you wish to talk – about anything – you know how to find me?"

I nodded. I wondered if I ever would need to talk. If the…thing…brightening between my son and myself would ever become frightening. I wondered how long his passionate promise would ring true, how long he would be just for me. How long until the new master – the young master – buckled under the weight of his father's legacy?

I looked at him, regal and buttoned up for our guest's visit. My well God, my practicing peacock. 'How long will you be mine?' I wondered.

Well, for a year at least. He was confined here by law to the Manor. His probation. The deal we'd struck to save him from Azkaban. I refused to think beyond it, refused to let sadness mar this day, this time, this year.

Besides, I had a feeling – a mother's instinct – that this year's love…would last.


End file.
